


with shortness of breath, you explained the infinite

by good_ho_mens



Series: Love, Not Loved [3]
Category: Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Cassie Sandsmark Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Memories, Sad, Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent & Bart Allen & Cassie Sandsmark are FAMILY, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, dang i really cried with this one aknwejk, istg this series is going to end happy im not joking, its just sad FIRST, okay i know cassie might not be dead but this one is legit the saddest one yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27689290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/good_ho_mens/pseuds/good_ho_mens
Summary: “I don’t think I ever wanted to be a hero.”“I never wanted to be a tragedy,” Cassie replies hoarsely.“What happened?”“Well, Tim Drake was already a tragedy, and Cassie Sandsmark was already a hero, and when love is added to the mix, we didn’t have much choice, did we?”
Relationships: Tim Drake & Cassie Sandsmark
Series: Love, Not Loved [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016593
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	with shortness of breath, you explained the infinite

When the time does come, like Tim had known it would, had been waiting impatiently for, had been dreading, he’s sitting on his floor while lofi plays in the background, and the stitching in his hoodie sleeve is somehow the most interesting thing in the world.

His phone buzzes out “Cassie” in Morse code and he yanks it out of his pocket so fast he almost throws it across the room. The text is simple, none of the extra exclamations or emojis that usually come with it.

_ “Go home with me?” _

Tim is up and pulling on shoes as he types a reply with one hand before he has time to even think, switching the hoodie he’s been wearing for three days for a clean one. 

He swings his door open, reaching back to grab his wallet, and skids around the doorframe into the hall.

It’s then that he realizes it is two am.

Dick’s doesn't throw his door open, but it’s close to it, and he sticks his head out, hair a mess and eyes glazed over. “Tim?”

Freezing in the hall, painfully aware that he’s wearing one sock, dirty sneakers, fleece Wonder Woman pajama bottoms, and Wayne Enterprises hoodie. His hair a mess and looking like he hasn’t slept in three days (he hasn’t). He swallows. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Going somewhere?”

“To… get water from the kitchen.”

“With your shoes and wallet?” Dick asks, and when Tim only looks away, he sighs, stepping into the hall the rest of the day. “Look, Tim, I know you’re going through it, and I haven’t always-- just, talk to me? Please?”

Guilt swirling in his gut, Tim shrugs. “Cassie needs me.”

“It can’t wait until morning? You look exhausted.”

“I wasn’t sleeping anyway,” Tim says. He shrugs again, “And it’s Cassie.”

His brother smiles softly, and nods. “Okay. Want a ride?”

Thank the gods for Dick Grayson. 

“I’m okay.”

“Text me so I know you’re safe?”

“Sure.”

Dick sighs, pulling at Tim’s sleeve until he stumbles into his chest and he wraps an arm around him securely. He doesn’t say anything, just tucks his chin over the top of Tim’s head. Tim knows he’s waiting, expecting him to shatter at any moment, he’s been watching him like a hawk for a year and a half.

With his face pressed against Dick’s worn t-shirt and the scent of Alfred’s kitchen and Kevlar filling his nose, Tim thinks he just might.

But he can’t, because Cassie needs him, and if he shatters now, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get back up.

Eventually, he pulls himself from Dick’s grip, back to the reality of who he is in his worn hoodie that doesn’t smell like anything but sweat and lost sleep and fear. 

“I’ll be back,” Tim says, and for some reason, it feels like a goodbye. Tim wonders if this is one of those times where he leaves, and when he comes back a piece of who he was is chipped away.

He wonders how many times he can do that before there’s nothing left to take.

Dick runs the back of his knuckles down Tim’s cheek, and he gets that look that Bruce sometimes does when he looks at pictures of Jason, before he died. Like grieving the boy who died for the man (as if Tim is a man, instead of a boy trying to fight like one). “I love you.”

The contact leaves his face and Tim almost stumbles, every part of him aching for it to come back. He wants to let his face crumple, to let Dick scoop him up like he used to and call him baby brother and not let him go until the sun is up and the monsters have gone away.

Only Tim isn’t that young kid anymore, who thinks monsters only live at night, and can always be fought. He knows now, that most monsters can’t even be seen, and no amount of light will make them go away.

Dick’s door shuts again with a click, and Tim is left alone in the hall.

“I love you too,” He whispers back, too late.

He doesn’t play music on the drive. He sits in his car and squints at the road and lets the buzzing in his mind take over. He knows the route like it’s muscle memory, even after all these years. He used to drive it with Bruce, when he was still learning. He’d always say that Tim rides the middle line too much, and Tim checks it now, out of habit, even though his car hasn’t smelled like Bruce’s cologne in years.

When they first adopted the safehouse as their new headquarters, Tim spent three days trying to convince Bruce to let them keep it, to let them have something of their own in this life where even their names are second hand. 

They called it “Safe-House” and it grew to have a deeper meaning. Safe at home. Their home.

It hits him as he pulls off the freeway and onto the secluded road, that one day, Tim walked out the door and never went back.

Cassie is waiting for him when he parks. She’s sitting on the hood of her car, eyes vacant, the wisps falling from her loose ponytail blowing across her face in the late night wind. She doesn’t squint at the headlights, or even acknowledge he’s there.

She looks like a ghost.

Tim pulls himself out of his car, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other clutching his keychain like a lifeline. “Hey, Wondie.”

“Rob,” Cassie greets hoarsely, and even though she can fly, she slides off her hood and lands in the mud, slippers squelching.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect, you?”

“Never better.”

“It’s not even a special day,” Cassie says, huffing a humorless laugh. “No anniversary or birthday, no reminders. I just woke up and took one look at Kon’s dumb jacket and Bart’s stupid goggles and I knew it was time.”

For some reason, Tim feels awkward, unsure if he should step closer or not. “It doesn’t have to be special, Cassie. We lost them. That’s-- well, that’s it, I guess.”

“That’s it,” Cassie repeats. She turns, yanking open her car door and pulling out a paper bag from her passenger seat. She raises it half heartedly and something inside clinks together.

Tim furrows his eyebrows, “Drinks?”

“Sparkling cider. I haven’t completely fallen off the deep end.”

“What flavor?” Tim asks wryly, and then like something snaps into place, he takes the bag from her and loops an arm around her waist with the other.

Cassie hums, dropping her head onto his shoulder, “Apple. Plus a bottle of pumpkin pie flavor. I don’t even know why, I was just curious.”

Tim makes a face, “Gross.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it. That’s what Bart always said, right?”

“Yeah, he did.”

They begin the trudge up to the door, and even though it’s only a few feet, it feels like miles. Cassie reaches up to her neck once they stop, pulling the chain there over her head. The key at the end looks the same, except etched in tiny lettering are the initials “B.A” and “C.K”. Cassie twirls it absently, “I thought about putting “K.E”, for Kon-El, you know? But he always loved being a Kent.”

Tim spent Kon’s birthday in his bed, staring at the ceiling through his blue tinted sunglasses. Damian barged in halfway through the day, burrowing out a place next to Tim on his bed, and shoved his phone screen in his face. Jon had sent a picture of Kon’s grave, with a tiny cupcake in front of it, a candle on top.

Kon’s gravestone says Conner Kent, beloved friend, brother, and son.

He was a Kent, at least when it mattered, and he loved every part of it. 

All he ever wanted was to belong, and part of Tim will never stop aching, knowing that he only got it for a few years.

Slowly, Cassie raises her hand to stick the key in the lock, but it shakes halfway and her grip slips. Tim shoves his own keys back in his pocket and has his hand around hers, keeping them both steady, before the key can clatter to the ground.

“Hey,” He says softly, “you and me, together.”

Cassie shakes her head, licks her lips, whispers, “I don’t think I can.”

“I do,” Tim insists. “You’re just scared.”

After a few seconds, Cassie nods. So they turn the key in the lock together, and as the blue scanner opens just above the doormat, Tim closes his eyes.

It recognizes him, and lets him through the door, even though he is far from the bright eyed kid recorded in it’s database.

As soon as they’re inside, Cassie coughs, and Tim drops his arm from her waist to yank the neck of his hoodie up over his nose. Dust is everywhere, on the floor they step on, in the air, on the windowsills and old couches. The house is dark, windows shut firmly and aged curtains pulled closed. 

“It’s a tomb,” Cassie says, and she sounds horrified.

“No.” Tim steps hesitantly over to the first window, shouldering the curtains aside and shoving the window open with a grunt, old paint cracking as it chips away. Fresh air breathes through the room for the first time in years, shifting the dust on the floor. “I think it’s just grieving.”

Cassie shifts on her feet, “Do you think it knows?”

“The house doesn’t have an A.I system it--”

“I know that. I'm asking you if you think it knows.”

“That they’re gone?”

“That we abandoned it.”

Tim looks around, trying to imagine what it would be like. To sit and stagnate and wait for the voices and the warmth to come back. He used to sit on his couch and stare at the clock, counting down the seconds to the next day, and the next, until he’d counted the thousands it would be until his parents came home.

There was a running clock in the back of his mind, no matter what he was doing. 

The house creaks, and wind blows through the window, and Tim nods, “I think it probably did.”

Warm light floods the sitting room when Tim flicks a switch, stuttering alive with a tired hello.

“Welcome home,” Cassie says quietly, passing him to cross the hall, into the game room. Tim watches her go.

_ “Did you just break the PS4 console? Bart, you know it won’t work with your weird future games.” _

_ “It would if you helped me upgrade it!” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Please, Tim? I’ll love you forever. For the rest of time. I’ll do anything. I’ll hug you for ten years--” _

_ “Okay! Okay, I’ll help.” _

_ “This is going to be  _ so _ rad!” _

He turns away from her, opening another window in the hall, shoving hard against the sealed paint. He has to cover his nose again as he opens the double dining room doors, turning his face against the onslaught of dust.

_ “You’re doing it wrong.” _

_ “I’m cutting a carrot, Kon. How are you supposed to do that wrong?” _

_ “Dude, you tell me. Why are they squares?  _ How _ are they squares?” _

_ “It’s geometric.” _

_ “You are such a nerd.” _

The kitchen window is a pain to get open, he has to brace his palms against the windowsill and shove upwards with his shoulders. He almost falls backwards when it comes unstuck. Moonlight pours through the window, lighting up the abandoned counters and cabinets. Hesitantly, he opens the one closest to the fridge, staring at the collection of mugs inside.

_ “I knew we should have brought Dick with us.” _

_ “Shut up, Boy Wonder. We can figure this out.” _

_ “Yeah! How hard can stocking a house be?” _

_ “Guys! They have superhero mugs!” _

Gingerly, he picks up the dusty Wonder Woman and Batman mugs. He blows into them, coughing and fanning the air as particles fly up and towards his face. He leaves the Flash and Superman ones where they are.

Mugs in hand, he steps out of the kitchen, wandering the long hallways and creaky wood floors until he finds Cassie, sitting in an open window in the gym, her foot propped on a bench press.

_ “Cassie! Kon thinks he can beat you in a push up contest!” _

_ “Bart! Don’t tell her that!” _

_ “Oh, it’s  _ on, _ Superboy. Hit the deck. My record is two thousand.” _

_ “I’m about to die, aren’t I?” _

He stops, out in the hall, and looks around. At the old floors and the old walls and up at the ceiling. 

There was laughter then, and arguments and running footsteps that he can hear echoes of if he closes his eyes and tries hard enough. Competitions and games and sleepovers and eating ice cream for breakfast just because an adult said they shouldn’t. Cuddle piles when someone got hurt and campouts in the backyard, reading old horror stories by the light of a campfire and leaving the masks inside, ignoring that they were anything but there for each other.

Tim never had much of a childhood, but the closest he ever got happened under this roof.

“I miss the noise,” He says aloud.

The silence doesn’t answer, and the dust settles at his feet.

Cassie smiles tightly at him when he walks through the gym doorway, looking down at the mugs and paper bag in his hands. She nods sarcastically, “Sanitary.”

“A little dust never killed anyone,” Tim says, passing her the Batman mug.

Pulling her sleeve over her hand to wipe out the inside of the mug, she snorts, “Uh, the Dust Bowl. I rest my case.”

“Touche.”

There’s a pile of weights in the corner, a spare pair of red fingerless gloves balanced on top. Faded to an orange brown with years of nonuse. A pair of old thermal socks hang over the towel rack, the Flash emblem half peeled.

Remnants of who they used to be sit like reminders, locked in an accidental time capsule of forgotten memories.

“I keep thinking about that last night,” Cassie says softly, drawing his attention back to her. “I didn’t actually think it would be my last night here, but maybe a part of me knew. I didn’t even have any clothes left in my room upstairs, not even a spare uniform.”

Tim sits down on the bench press, setting the bag of sparkling cider down by his feet. “I remember being called back to Gotham for a case, the day you and Kon were talking about the Teen Titans. When I left I took everything with me. I didn’t even think about it.”

“We never said goodbye.”

Tim doesn’t know if she’s talking about the house or their friends. He figures it’s the same answer either way. 

The Wonder Woman mug is cold against his hands, and he grips it tighter, letting the sensation bite into his skin. He pretends the cold is the only reason his hands are shaking.

“Sometimes,” He starts slowly, eyes resolutely trained on his cup, “when I wake up in the morning, there’s this second, that everyone talks about when they’re grieving. This moment when I forget who I’ve lost. Like my brain hasn’t quite caught up to the present, and I just lay there, and stare at the ceiling, and it feels like I’m okay, just for a second. Except then I remember, and it’s like losing them all over again. But that second? It’s my favorite part of the day, when I can just breathe.”

He doesn’t tell her how he rarely sleeps anyway. How most of the time, he doesn’t wake up in blissful forgetfulness, but stays agonizingly aware as his clock ticks closer to a new day of hurt.

He doesn’t tell her that he’s not sure how many more he can get through.

The foot braced against the bench lifts, crosses with the other, and settles over Tim’s lap. Cassie must’ve taken her muddy slippers off, because she’s only wearing thick green socks now. She takes a deep breath and blows it out again, frosty and white in the stagnant air. “Do you know what I thought, just after Kon died?”

“What?”

“I thought, ‘thank god Bart isn’t here’. I was so worried that he would-- that he’d show up, and he’d see our best friend lying in a pile of rubble and blood and his photographic memory would never let him forget it.” She sniffs, and a shudder quivers its way down her spine. “I didn’t realize that you don’t need a photographic memory to remember something like that. You just have to close your eyes.”

Tim braces his forearms on her shins, leaning towards her slightly. “I forgot his laugh. I can remember his eyes when he-- but I can’t remember his laugh.”

“What does that say about our lives?” Cassie asks numbly, “Did the bad outweigh the good so much that we can barely remember the happy parts?”

“I think it’s the opposite. The good happened so often it blended together, it’s the occasional bad that stands out.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Tim shrugs, “Maybe.”

Cassie sighs, glancing down at the bag at his feet. “Think we can get the heater turned on?”

“The security system and lights still work, so power is coming from somewhere.”

“Think the pool is still heated?” Cassie teases, kicking her legs off him and standing up.

Turns out, it is. 

It’s the only room in the whole house that isn't covered in dust. The humidity and air circulation keeps anything from settling down too long. Tiny tendrils of steam make their way up into the air from the water, crystal clear, safe from any disruptions in the enclosed space.

“I feel like we walked onto a movie set,” Cassie says. She’s staring at one of Bart’s disposable cameras, sitting on a pool table. Scattered around it are the instant printed pictures, just as still as everything else. 

He walks over to them, scared to move them as he scans over the faded smiles and moments captured just as a wave of water arcs up from the pool. The green of his old suit, a glimpse of Bart’s hair, part of Cassie’s skirt, the back of Kon’s head. Bart wasn’t a photographer, but Tim picks up a half blurred picture of a group hug and thinks it’s the most beautiful photo he’s ever seen. He tucks it into his pocket as he scans the rest of the room.

A pair of Tim’s flip-flops sit by the pool, and one of Cassie’s headbands hang over a lounge chair. A unicorn floaty sits, mostly deflated, in the pool. Tim feels like he’s intruding in a place that doesn’t belong to him, not anymore.

He sets the bag down anyway, pulling out a bottle and kicking off his shoes.

Cassie doesn’t even do that. She just sits down and dips her feet in, long pants, socks and all.

When she was leader, he remembers being relieved more than prideful. He didn’t know, at first, if he could trust her to do it, but after that first mission he sat on his bed and shook with the lightness of it. A weight lifted that she carried so much better.

Tim was meant to lead, but not back then.

If someone asked him to make a list of things that inspired Tim to be the hero he is today, watching Cassie lead Young Justice would be close to the top.

He sits down beside her, popping the cap off the cider with his car key. Once both their mugs are filled, Cassie hums a thank you. Tim just shrugs.

“Remember when we were kids?” Cassie asks.

The cider is cold against his teeth. “Not really.”

Cassie laughs, pushing him sideways lightly. “Younger, then. When having our own pool was like the coolest thing on the planet.”

“I grew up with a pool, in both my houses.” Tim makes a face, “But yeah, you guys were always weird about it.”

“Okay, ‘entitlement is my middle name’, I’m trying to tell a story.” Cassie rolls her eyes, but sends him a smile too, “It was when were first getting to know each other, and you were a complete asshat--”

“That’s very rude.”

“And correct.”

“No comment.”

“Anyway, we had just met--”

“Is this when you were still wearing that hideous rat wig?” Tim interrupts.

Cassie glares at him,  _ “Extremely _ rude of you to say.”

“Nevertheless, correct.”

“No comment, you smug dick.”

“My brother’s name is Dick and he’s the nice one, so that insult doesn’t actually hold any weight.”

“I’m trying very hard to be sincere and nostalgic, here.”

“Sorry, carry on. I’ll see if I can scrounge up a few tears for your heart wrenching story.”

Cassie shoves him again, and some of his cider sloshes over the lip of his cup and into the pool, discoloring the blue tinted glassy color of the pool with a brownish red. He swishes his feet around to dispel it, kicking water over Cassie at the same time. She gasps dramatically, “I changed my mind, you’re still a complete asshat.”

“Your hair does look much better, though.”

“I will literally vault you off a cliff.”

Tim snorts, lifting his cup to take a swallow, humor in his eyes as he stares at Cassie over the rim, “Go on.”

“Okay, jeez. So we’re at the pool, and you, as always, are wearing your stupid uniform, and don’t even argue with me because you very well could’ve worn swim trunks with a domino mask. No one’s going to recognize you by your nips, Wayne.”

“Oh my god, Cassie.”

“I’m right. Anyway, Kon spent a good hour trying to get you in the pool, and you kept refusing, and then Bart suggested we just push you in, and I told them that was a terrible idea.” Cassie waves a hand, “Because I’m a good person and all that. Besides, I had a better idea.”

Tim frowns, squinting at her slightly, “Hold on is this the time--”

“I told Bart to pretend he was drowning and you jumped in to save him. Yes.”

“And you guys wonder why I never trusted you.”

Cassie laughs, and her dimples deepen, but her eyes are still dull. “It was a fun day, admit it.”

Tim hums, conceding. “I did like the part where I beat Kon at basketball.”

“He said you cheated.”

“Yeah, and Cissie said  _ he _ was cheating, so who are we really going to believe?”

“I don’t even get how you cheat at basketball.”

“Flying isn’t allowed.”

“You can’t fly.”

Tim grins at her, “But I have tech.”

“You suck.”

“Yup,” Tim says, popping the ‘p’.

They lapse into silence, sipping at their own cider. They finish the first bottle off quickly, Tim, probably, because he hasn’t consumed anything except caffeine and poptarts for three days. Cassie seems to sense it, and just keeps refilling his cup every time it gets marginally empty. He sets the empty bottle aside, and Cassie pulls the pumpkin one out, wiggling her eyebrows. “Care for an adventure, Bird Brain?”

Tim scoffs, but holds out his mug. Cassie pours them each a cup, and he nods at her, very serious. “On the count of three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

The second it touches his tongue Tim starts to gag. He chokes on a laugh and then on the drink when he sees Cassie’s face, turning to the side to keep from toppling into the pool. “What the hell?”

“I was expecting it to be bad, not poison!” Cassie says, staring in disdain at her cup.

Tim sticks his tongue in and out of his mouth, making a face and trying to get the flavor off his taste buds. “Where’s the closest drain?”

“Oh no, we can’t waste it.”

“You’re not serious.”

Cassie grimaces, raises her glass halfway, and takes another drink. She gags, “Cheers.”

“Better the second time?”

“Worse.”

Tim takes another drink of his anyway. He scowls down at the cup like it’s committed a personal offence. Which it  _ has.  _ “This reminds me of when I was little.”

“Depressing, disappointing, and not at all like it was marketed?”

“I meant a story, dork.” Tim rolls his eyes. “When I was around nine, I got bored sitting at my house alone, so I went online and bought all these random candies. One of them was like a Jolly Rancher, but turns out it was cheese flavored, with fake cheese filling.”

Cassie stares at him, eyes wide, half between disgusted and enamored. “Did you eat it?”

“Yes.”

“Tim!”

“It was awful. I cried. I didn’t touch candy or cheese for the next four months.”

“Oh,  _ baby,” _ Cassie says sympathetically, even as she laughs. 

Tim swats at her, “You’re a bad person. I can’t believe you’re laughing at my main childhood trauma.”

Cassie wheezes at that, setting her mug down and snorting into her hand. Tim pats her on the back as she rasps, “Your origin story.”

“I put Superman to shame,” Tim says, finally breaking his composure and dissolving into laughter as well. Cassie tips into him, the top of her head pressed against his collarbone. Her shoulders shake as he wraps an arm around them. The aftertaste of terrible pumpkin soda lingers in his mouth as his laughter dies out slowly, and he swallows, “I guess… I guess I do remember being a kid.”

Cassie’s shoulders are still shaking, something wet hits his hoodie. Tim leans his cheek against her head, rubbing her back the way Dick does whenever he’s upset. She shudders under his hands, “We should  _ still _ be kids.”

“I know,” Tim says, scrubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “It just didn’t work out that way.”

“I understand now,” Cassie whispers, “why every hero story is also a tragedy.”

“Heroes lose a lot,” Tim says with a nod.

“Heroes  _ love _ a lot, it’s what makes us who we are.” Cassie waves her hand. “Loving, losing tragedy, heroes, it’s all connected.’

“A thrilling cycle,” Tim says dryly.

“A sacrifice.” 

“I guess you’re right. A sacrifice,” Tim repeats, looking down at her. “I don’t think I ever  _ wanted _ to be a hero.”

“I never wanted to be a tragedy,” Cassie replies hoarsely. 

“What happened?”

“Well, Tim Drake was already a tragedy, and Cassie Sandsmark was already a hero, and when love is added to the mix, we didn’t have much choice, did we?”

“I like to think we did.”

“So do I.” Cassie closes her eyes like her eyelids weigh a hundred pounds. “Yeah, I like to think it.”

Tim steadies her as she sits up, wiping an eyelash off her cheek with his thumb. “Hey there, Sunshine.”

“Sap,” Cassie replies, reaching up to tap his chin. “Sorry about your hoodie.”

“It’s Jason’s, so it doesn’t actually matter.”

Cassie sniffs, swiping at her nose with her jacket cuff. “I wonder how long it takes to hit your limit, before you go insane or just fade away.”

“Limit?”

“Yeah. Deaths,” Cassie clarifies, shaking her hand out of her sleeve, shoving her hair away from her wet cheeks. “You can only go to so many funerals, you know.”

Tim’s eyes find the water, far too still, even with their feet dangling in it, creating tiny ripples. “I think I’ve already been to too many.”

“Me too.” Cassie spins, turning so her back is to the pool, and lays down, staring up at him. “You know, Tim, I think we know what love is, better than anyone.”

His keys jingle when he pulls them out of his pocket, and he passes them to Cassie, waiting to let go until she sees Bart’s ring, dangling between the tiny Wayne family picture, and the Hawaii keychain Kon got him three years ago, when he went on a Christmas vacation with the Kent’s.

Tim swallows thickly, “Me too.”

“Look at us, a couple of romantics.”

“Here’s to that,” Tim toasts, lifting his mug halfway in the air, “and losing all at once.”

Cassie laughs, dropping her head back so her hair floats at the top of the pool. “Here’s to being tragedies.”

Tim pulls her up to sit, and they drink. The water reflects on the ceiling and turns the room into a tipping snow globe. Tim raises his cup again. “Here’s to family.”

“Here’s to home,” Cassie adds.

They drink, and the silence echoes.

Cassie drops her head onto Tim’s shoulder and lets out a shuddering breath. “I think this is my funeral, Tim.”

“How did you die?” 

“Heartbreak,” She says, even though he doesn’t actually need her to tell him. She closes her eyes.

The sun is probably starting to rise now, and even though there’s no windows in the pool room, the atmosphere feels heavy, like the twilight is a part of his heart, too. Cassie hums, once, like she’s remembering something she’d almost forgotten, a glimpse of something they used to be.

“Promise to catch me if I fall?”

“Always,” Tim replies. He kisses her head, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The water reflects on the ceiling, and Tim lets himself mourn.

He wakes up alone.

If not for the set of old wrist guards she leaves him, he’d question whether or not Cassie was really there at all. Tim picks them up in one hand, and the two mugs in the other. When he gets home, he’ll add them to his growing collection.

His shoes make new prints on the dusty floor, and he follows Cassie’s to the foyer, pausing to look back. 

“I love you,” He tells the house. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it last time.”

The door shuts with a click and a lock as he steps onto the welcome mat. He presses a hand to the wood. “Goodbye, home. Don’t wait up this time.”

He knows he imagines it, the way the house groans, like it’s settling in itself. Like it’s saying goodbye to him, too.

The drive back to the manor is filled to the brim with sorrow. 

When he walks through the front door and toes his shoes off, he’s met with more quiet. Usually, at this hour, there would be a loud racket and at least two half serious arguments, but today, there’s nothing. 

He finds Bruce sitting alone at the dining room table, not even Alfred in sight, and figures it was on purpose. 

“You’re back,” Bruce says simply, glancing up from his paper. 

“Yeah. Sorry. We were talking and I guess we just fell asleep.”

“It’s alright. Dick told me where you went, and Cassie texted me a few hours ago to let me know you’d be late in the day.”

That’s Cassie, alright. Taking care of his exhausted ass even at the worst of times. 

Tim considers leaving. He’s sure Bruce would let him. He could just shuffle upstairs and hide under his blankets until Dick can’t fight the overwhelming need to big brother him anymore. 

He sits down in the chair next to Bruce. 

Bruce, for his part, says nothing, just flips another page in the newspaper that he’s obviously not actually reading. 

“Cassie said something, last night.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Tim clears his throat. “She said that you can only go to so many funerals.”

He doesn’t tell him the rest of it. Tim will call Diana himself and have her check up on Cassie. 

Bruce sets his paper down. “What do you think of that?”

“I think I’ve been to too many funerals,” Tim says with a wet laugh. There’s dust on his hoodie, and he fights the urge to scrub it off manically, to wipe away the physical proof that he is all that is left. The house that used to be a home sits empty, and so does his heart.

Studying him, Bruce leans forward in his chair. Tim for once, is glad he can just tell, and Tim doesn’t have to say what’s running through his brain. 

“You’re not alone, chum,” Bruce says, reaching out to cup the back of his neck. “I know that you’ve lost a lot, but you haven’t lost everything. You still have me, and your brothers and sisters, Alfred, Cassie.”

“I know--“ Tim starts, but Bruce holds up a hand. 

“More importantly, you have  _ you, _ Tim. You have your life and everything you’re going to do with it.”

Tim glances at the mirror hanging in the hall, just outside the dining room door. At this angle his reflection is warped and off, but still him. He doesn’t know why his throat is suddenly dry. It was him, back then, when he first joined the team. Him and a mask and a lie. He isn’t lying anymore, and his mask comes off with minimal scarring, these days.

Back then he relied on it, the constant of having people to look after and protect. No one said it, but they all thought he’d be the one to die first. Except here he is, alive. Alive and changed, even if all that’s left of the chrysalis is the dust on his hoodie.

“I’ve got me, huh?”

“Yes, son. You have you.”

(Tim dies in a rain of drone hellfire eight weeks later.)


End file.
